She Sleeps In His Track Jacket
by Wonton Destruction
Summary: Wednesday Addams is a Junior at fabled Miskatonic University, and she has her sights set on something other than her degree: Alaric Hartmann, the far-off descendant of Conan the Cimmerian, and Medical Student at Miskatonic. Wednesday hopes to claim his heart as only an Addams can, and together hold back the evils of the Mythos.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I take no credit for the characters or locations in "The Addams Family" "Conan the Cimmerian" or the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Alaric Hartmann and the other various OC's are of my own making.

If Alaric Hartmann were to be asked why he was in the occult section of the library he would be hard pressed to give an answer beyond 'Why not?' Even though he had been at Miskatonic University for nearly six years, the entirety of his undergraduate and post-graduate career, he had never perused that particular section of the library, despite how famous it was. It had been said that the rare and ancient tomes jealously guarded in the library drove men to madness, but Al didn't think he had much to worry about. As a second year med student, school was already doing a fine job of that.

Al was what some would consider handsome, in a rough sort of way. He was above average in height, just short of six feet, with a compact frame of knotted muscle, a remnant of his time playing hockey. His hair was dark and short, with grey-blue eyes that seemed to smolder when deep in thought, standing out against his swarthy skin.

He'd spent the majority of his time at Miskatonic in the labs, on the ice at the hockey rink, and even at the occasional party, but never had he set foot in the most famous part of school's library. On that day he felt what could be described as a pull toward the library, a desire to explore and discover. The shelves were lined with dusty, leather-bound books with strange titles in Latin, German, and languages he didn't even recognize. The line of shelves led to an open space in the center the occult wing where three pedestals stood under thick Plexiglas cases. He approached them with caution, as if coming upon some feral beast that would attack at any sudden move. Plaques adorned each of the cases, signifying the importance of the pieces. _The Book of Eibon, __Unaussprechlichen Kulten, the Necronomicon._ Each one coveted for the arcane knowledge held within the pages, knowledge of long-forgotten gods worshipped in secret when mankind was young. His fingers brushed against the glass.

"You have Cimmerian blood."

"Jesus Christ," he shouted, wheeling around to discover the source of the unexpected interruption, heart hammering in his chest. She was tall, almost as tall as him, and thin. Her cheek bones were high, her eyes hard and examining. She was pale, as if she'd rarely seen the sun, her black hair contrasting sharply with her skin. Her dress was simple and black, reaching down to her knees while concealing a lithe figure. She was pretty, he decided, in a strange, fae kind of way. The pigtail braids were a bit childish, though.

Over the faint 'Sh!" of the librarian, she repeated, "You have Cimmerian blood," she repeated. "You are a descendant of the Cimmerians. Maybe with some Pict. There might be Aesir in you. Just a bit though." He remembered reading about the Picts in his History of the British Isles class, but Cimmerian was a term he was less than familiar with. She stepped up to him and cupped his face in her hands, examining the individual creases and angles. Her hands were very cold.

"Um… Not that this is unpleasant, but could you tell me who you are before you start examining me like a steer at the county fair?" Her examination continued, uninterrupted, fingers prodding his cheeks and jaw.

"Wednesday Addams, Class of 2015. Major in Business Administration, double Minor in Occult Studies and Ancient History. You should be careful. You wouldn't be the first to die because of the Necronomicon." She finally released him, taking a small notebook from her backpack, scribbling down her findings. Finally regaining his composure, Al scowled, crossing his arms.

"You want to tell me what the Hell was that about?"

"A project for my Ancient Anthropology class," she said, never looking up from her pad. "I'm studying the spread of Hyborean peoples through the ages to see which traits have remained strongest. You have the strongest Cimmerian traits that I have seen so far. I would like to study you more. What is your name?"

"My name is none of your business, and if you pull anything like that again I'm going to Public Safety." He made to turn and leave when she spoke again.

"I already know your name, Alaric Hartmann, second year student at Miskatonic Medical School. Asking was just a formality. Now, when would be a convenient time to meet for my study?"

He whirled around. "I don't know how you know all of that, little girl," he started, closing what little distance he'd managed to put between them, "but let me make something clear: I've know you for less than five minutes, and I already dislike you. If you ever come near me again, there is not a force in this or any other reality that will be able to help you."

Wednesday smiled to herself as he stormed off. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Alaric."

XXXxxxXXX

In the two weeks since his encounter in the library Al had been keeping an eye over his shoulder when he wasn't in class, or the lab, or studying in his room. While he didn't actually see the strange girl from the library again, he had a feeling in the back of his mind that someone was watching him whenever he went out. It was the worst when he was on the ice. Despite the major time constraints his chosen field of study put on him, Al made a point skate at least every other day, rollerblading in the summer and spring, ice skating in the fall and winter. His time on the hockey team gave him a lot of leeway when it came to using the rink, complete with a signed pass from the director of athletics. It was one of the few things left in his life that required no thought, no special consideration. All he had to do was skate until his legs went numb, his mind free to wander. Alas, it seemed all good things had to come to an end. In the middle of a set of suicides when a voice he had come to dread startled him. "It seems time hasn't diminished your skill Alaric Hartmann. I am not disappointed." She rose from a seat in the stands, a little black notebook tucked under her arm.

"What the hell do you want? I thought I told you to leave me alone," he said through gritted teeth. Wednesday smirked.

"I still need you for my study, and there is no one else who is nearly as well-suited as you." She raised a hand before he could say anything. "You and I both know that I will not stop until I get what I want. All you need to do is give up a few hours of your time, and if you really want me to, I will leave you alone."

There was a long pause before Al spoke. "What exactly do you need me to do?" Her smile chilled him to the bone. It was like a panther eyeing a gazelle.

"You will meet me at the gym at two o'clock the day after tomorrow. Wear comfortable clothing and running shoes." With that she turned and left, leaving him all alone on the ice. Was it a stupid decision, going along with this little study of hers? Probably. At that point, however, Alaric was willing to do anything to get some semblance of peace back.

'Besides," he thought, 'how bad could a little workout be?'

XXXxxxXXX

As it turned out a "little workout" could be one of the most physically exhausting and trying things a person could take part in. At two o'clock sharp, Al was greeted at the gym by a Wednesday Addams who had undergone a stark wardrobe change. Instead of the plain black dress she had been wearing when he had first met her, she was sporting a tight gray t-shirt and a pair of tight black yoga pants. While the color scheme hadn't changed much, what Al took notice of was that the form-fitting nature of her attire revealed that Wednesday Addams had one sweet ass. 'No," he corrected himself, 'sweet ass doesn't do her justice. That girl has a _booty_.' Her new ponytail was another new addition that set Alaric's mind to wandering. His revelry would be short-lived.

Her instructions were short and clear. He had several minutes to stretch and warm up, and he was to follow her instructions to the letter. His first test was to work a heavy bag until told to stop. He wrapped his hands and set to work, unleashing a flurry of sharp jabs and hard crosses, throwing in elbows and knees as the minutes wore on. Those first few minutes were a sight to behold, but like all men Alaric began to tire, though he refused to stop. His strikes lost power and speed, his movements becoming more clumsy and labored. Eventually he was given the order to stop and a bottle of water. After only a few moments of rest he had to start again, this time being handed a heavy Indian club and told to swing it like a sword, occasionally having to dodge a thrown tennis ball. The hours passed slowly as Alaric moved through each trial that his pale tormentor placed him in, from rock climbing to weightlifting until at least he was blindfolded and put on a treadmill and told to run until he couldn't run anymore.

The entire time Wednesday was smiling behind her notebook. Alaric Hartmann had clearly been an excellent choice. When compared to the fragments about the great Cimmerian Conan, Alaric matched up in every way. He was fast, strong, and possessed seemingly supernatural endurance when pushed far enough. Even now, after being physically punished he was still going, slowly adding miles to his count. His attitude towards her was cold and short, but she had noticed the look in his eye when he saw her earlier that afternoon. She would have to see if the legendary barbarian lust bred as true as the physical traits… It would have to wait, however. Al began to slow noticeably eventually dropping to his knees, gasping for breath. It had been six hours of near-constant physical activity and her champion had performed admirably. He pulled the blindfold from his eyes and dragged himself over to a wall to rest, gulping down mouthfuls of water.

"Is that it," he gasped out, looking warily up at her. "Is that all you needed?"

She jotted something down. "I have recorded the results of your physical trials. I shouldn't need anything else from you." He looked relieved, despite the pulsating ache in his muscles. "Will you need help getting back to your apartment?"

"No. I'm just going to sit here for a while. Maybe call a cab… You'll stop bothering me now, right?"

"I will stop pestering you about my experiment, yes. Now, however, I must be getting on with my physical activities. Thank you for your co-operation Alaric Hartmann. Your results were most… Intriguing." She turned on her heel and left him there sitting against the wall, watching her departure. It may have been the exhaustion setting in, but Al could have sworn Wednesday had put a noticeable sway into her hips, an almost hypnotic motion. It was certainly distracting enough to keep him from noticing her backward glance. Wednesday smiled that disturbing little grin of hers, subconsciously licking her lips. So far her wild Cimmerian bull proved to be the perfect specimen. He was physically powerful, intellectually gifted, and quite fun to look at. Yes, she would have to temper his attitude toward her, but the groundwork was already there. He wanted her now, at least physically. Today's little display had seen to that. With the right motivation he would be the perfect companion. Wednesday was an Addams, and an Addams always got what they wanted.

A/N: To those of you who have read my other work, I know I probably shouldn't have started another fic while my other ones have gone untouched. I promise I am working on them. This idea came to me in a dream and begged to be written.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I take no credit for the characters or locations in "The Addams Family" "Conan the Cimmerian" or the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Alaric Hartmann and the other various OC's are of my own making.

"Do I know Al Hartmann? Shit, I played hockey with him for three years! Greatest son of a bitch I ever knew."

"What exactly made him so great," Wednesday asked, pen and notebook in hand. Though she had planted seeds of physical desire in Alaric Hartmann's mind, his present attitude toward her meant he would never willingly choose spend time with her. So Wednesday, being an Addams, decided to collect information about his past that could later be used to remove the choice from him. It sounded much nicer than 'blackmail,' after all. She only hoped that this insipid former frat boy could offer up some useful information.

"Well first off, he was a machine on the ice. He could skate, he could hit, and he was relentless on defense. A mobile brick wall, that's what he was. And off the ice, forget about it. He worked his ass off in class, sure, but he threw the greatest parties. Booze and babes flowed like water, and everybody went home satisfied." He sighed contentedly, always happy to flashback to that time in his life. Why the weird girl wanted to know any of this never occurred to him, but it was probably something for the paper.

"Was there anyone who didn't think Alaric was as great as you did?" Maybe a nemesis could provide the information she needed.

"Oh yeah, there's definitely one person who comes to mind: Hilliard McPherson. And yes, we're talking about the son of Dean McPherson," he informed at her questioning look. "Hilly hated Al with a passion, and Al didn't hesitate to return the favor."

It seemed Alaric had enemies in high places. "Why did they dislike each other?"

"It started out as a one-sided thing, actually. Hilly was used to being the big dick on campus, if you get me; he was the dean's kid, and he played on the hockey team. Then Al showed up. He was smarter; better looking, and a much better player. And because he wasn't a total douche bag, more people liked him. Suddenly, Hilly wasn't top dog, and it infuriated him. He started harassing him, petty stuff at first, name-calling and the like… But then it got more serious. Tripping him during practice, gumming up the locks on his car, bothering his girl. 'Course, it all stopped at the start of our Junior year."

Oh, this was sure to be good. "What happened?"

"Hilliard got crippled. Late one night he got jumped and the next thing anyone knew he was in a wheelchair." He shrugged, lighting a cigarette.

"And who was it that attacked him? Alaric?"

"They never caught the guy who did it, but if anyone had motive, it was Alaric Hartmann." At her questioning look he went on. "There was a girl, foreign student from India that Al was real sweet on. They weren't official or anything, but I always had the feeling Al was going to make a move. Then one night at a party, she got raped. She wouldn't say who did it, but everyone knew it was Hilliard. He'd been bothering her for weeks because Al liked her, and after everything happened he had this stupid smirk on his face, like he'd gotten away with murder. Problem was, he's the dean's kid, and he was basically untouchable."

"And the girl," Wednesday asked.

"Went back home to India. Alaric was furious, but not screaming. It was… Colder, I guess is the word. Real intense. Two weeks later, Hilliard's in a wheelchair, never to walk again."

"And it was Alaric who did it?"

"S'what everyone thought at first. The dean had him arrested since everyone knew about their feud, but the charges got dropped. It turns out that Al's grandma had died earlier that week, and he was at the funeral 500 miles away the day of the attack, and had taken his car with him. Even if he had broken the speed limit the whole way back, there's no way he would have made it. The investigators agreed, and Al was released."

"And what do you think?" Wednesday was grinning madly inside. This was exactly what she needed.

"I think a smug little shit stain got exactly what he deserved. If he had died none of us would've cared. The thing is, that girl wasn't the first one Hilly had gone after. There were others, whispers about what he'd done and gotten away with. All I know is that Al looked a lot happier after everything was said and done. Can it be proven he did it? No. Do I believe he did it? Kind of, yeah. Would any of us hold it against him if he did do it? Not a chance. Now, enough for this trip down memory lane, my break's over. Scram."

Now this was just perfect. All that was necessary now was a little more research and Alaric would be hers. Time, however, was still of the essence. It was only a week until Christmas break, and her trap needed to be sprung at just the right moment.

XXXxxxXXX

Alaric cursed the day he met Wednesday Addams. Ever since she had entered his life all of the strange things that happened around Arkham became more noticeable to him. There were more people from the dilapidated town of Innsmouth around campus, preaching the virtues of their 'Esoteric Order of Dagon.' The mere sight of them made Al shudder, with their flabby, fish-like lips, cloudy, bulging eyes, and oddly textured skin. Unnatural was what it was. Normally he could ignore them, having to focus on his exams, but their very presence made him uneasy. Then there were those odd students who congregated around the Occult library, muttering in some odd language Al couldn't discern. Their glances were shifty and suspicious, as if they were planning something sinister.

It was the dreams, however, that had the greatest effect on Al. They started the day after his little test with that Addams girl and had grown more vivid and intense every night thereafter. The subject matter wasn't necessarily shocking, or even very gory. Rather, it was how he felt after he awoke that gave him pause; His heart would be pounding, blood roaring in his ears, and his muscles ached as if he had been put through a meat grinder. Vast jungles stretched out before his eyes, a shadowy figure behind every tree ready to leap out and take his head, only to have their own skulls split by his blade. There were ancient cyclopean tombs whose foundations had been laid by even more ancient hands, containing long-forgotten knowledge guarded by fearsome beasts from beyond human reckoning. And even more recently a woman was making appearances in his nightly excursions. She was pale, with skin like flawless alabaster. Her limbs were lithe and supple, but with a round, firm backside, and plump, heaving breasts. Her face had a regal bearing with high cheekbones framed by hair as black as jet. It was only the previous night that the face of his nocturnal temptress had struck home: Wednesday Addams. She had seemed so different, dressed in strands of silk as she moved about him with the same grace as a coiling viper before she slid into his lap. At times she held a dagger to his neck, while at others it was her lips, leaving scorching kisses along his throat, all the while whispering words of possession and desire against his skin. He disliked her to be sure, but when he saw her in his dreams he wanted her more than he ever wanted any woman before.

"Have you missed me, Alaric," a toneless voice whispered in his ear. He yelped, dropping a book he had been carrying.

"Don't do that," he shouted, wheeling around to face his harasser and immediately scowled. "Oh, it's you. I thought you agreed to leave me alone?"

Wednesday smirked. "I agreed to stop pestering you about my project. However, I did not agree to completely avoid you. In fact, I have wonderful news to share with you. You will be accompanying me to my home for Christmas."

"And why the Hell would I be doing that? You know what? Don't even answer that. We're done here. Merry Christmas, hope your house doesn't burn down." He gathered up his books and stormed away, but his raven-haired tormenter was hot on his trail.

"I know about Hilliard McPherson." He didn't stop walking.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Hilliard was the victim of a random attack. All charges against me were dropped, and I was nowhere near here when it happened."

"You and I both know that's not true. I know how you were able to get here and back unnoticed. I know how you followed him that night and what you used to cripple him. I even know how Smita came to you and- " Without warning he pulled her into an alcove between buildings and pinned her up against a wall. His eyes were alight with an unadulterated rage, his teeth bared and he leaned his head down until their noses were touching. The whole thing made her feel rather tingly, and that was saying something. Everyone knew, after all, that Wednesday Addams did _not_ tingle.

"_What the fuck do you want from me?!_" he hissed, his breath coming in heavy pants. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?! For years, no one had ever found out about his using an unassuming two-seater flown by a family friend to get back to Arkham. No one had ever put together how he stalked Hilliard that night. And he'd been especially sure that no one had been around when Smita came to him, sobbing and begging for him to forgive her for being victim to the machinations of a deranged sociopath, and how she pleaded for him to earn justice for her. It had all been so carefully hidden…

A touch of silken skin against his cheek cut through the rage that clouded his mind. She was looking up at him with those cool hazel eyes. "You. You are what I want, Alaric Hartmann. If you want your secrets kept, you will join my family and me for Christmas. Is a few days so much to ask in exchange for your security?"

His shoulders sagged. He knew he was beaten, if only for the moment. "And you promise that after this you'll stay away from me if I ask you to?"

"Yes, _mein Eroberer_." She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, relishing the way he shuddered against her.

"Just give me the damn address," he muttered, mentally admonishing himself for showing that kind of reaction. Damned if he knew German could be so sexy. She pressed a folded piece of paper with her home address and a few suggestions about what to bring with him. With that she left, the sway in her hips more obvious than when he had seen her last. 'A week with the Addams Family. Fucking fantastic.'

A/N: The German means "My Conqueror." I figured I'd give them a kind of Morticia/Gomez dynamic with the German. To Orion nine, I actually pictured an early-twenties Christina Ricci for Wednesday. As for Al, I didn't really have anyone in mind. Definitely something I'll have to think about. All constructive criticism is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I take no credit for the characters or locations in "The Addams Family" "Conan the Cimmerian" or the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Alaric Hartmann and the other various OC's are of my own making.

"Hello? Alaric, is something wrong?"

"Hey Mom… No, nothing's really wrong. I was just wondering if you could call Aunt Eostre and let her know I won't be coming for Christmas dinner."

"Why won't you be going to your aunt's? You aren't coming to us, are you? I know you have your break, but you don't really want to spend your Christmas is Sweden, do you?"

Al sighed. His parents had gone to Sweden for a conference where his father was the special guest speaker. Gaiseric Hartmann was one of the world's foremost experts on Parasitology and Internal Medicine, as well as Alaric's inspiration for becoming a doctor. "No, Mom, I'm not coming to Sweden. A friend invited me to spend Christmas with her family and I couldn't refuse…"

"Her?" Al could already hear the teasing slipping into his mother's voice. "Well isn't that just peachy? Your father and I work hard to put you through school, and instead of studying you're out cavorting with some trollop. Oh the shame! I've failed as a mother," she finished with a cackling laugh. Oh this was rich! She could tease for months with this!

"Mom, it's not like that and you know it. I just... This is something I have to do. It's not like she's my girlfriend."

"You might want to make sure she knows that, dear. I mean, she's already taking you home to meet her parents! I think whoever this girl is, she's quite sweet on you. I expect pictures when we see you on New Year's."

He sighed. "Yes, Mother." How did this crazy woman ever spawn him?

"Good boy. Your father isn't here right now, do you want me to have him call you later?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that would be great, actually." Demeter smiled. Like all boys, her son idolized his father. Everything Alaric did was to make his father proud, all of his hobbies spawned from things his father would do with him as a boy. "And could you call Aunt Eostre? She'll ask fewer questions if you tell her."

"Of course, darling. Just get have a good time with your lady, and have a good Christmas. I love you, son."

Alaric smiled to himself. "I love you to mom."

"What're you going to be?"

"Careful."

"How careful?"

"Extra careful." She'd been doing that since he was a child, and he just didn't feel right unless she still did it. "Bye Mom."

"Goodbye Alaric."

XXXxxxXXX

The drive from Miskatonic to the Addams' house was a long one, but Al had come to enjoy long drives, mainly because he loved his car. Well, it was technically _his_ car, at least not yet. His father had bought the car, a 2010 Lotus Evora, back when Al was in college, under the pretense of it being a graduation gift. However when Alaric finally graduated, his father kept the car, saying that Al wouldn't have time for driving with medical school. Granted, he was right, but it didn't make Al any less annoyed. So it was with great relish that he dropped off his old clunker at the family home in New York and picked up his car. The road melted under the smooth handling of the Evora (whom he'd secretly nicknamed Zenobia), making even the clusterfuck that was driving in New Jersey bearable.

The Addams lived in an upscale town in Central New Jersey called Westfield. Even Al, who lived the life of a prince when compared with some people, let out more than a few low whistles at some of the houses that lined the streets, from Gothic revivals, to stately Tudors, to the bland 'McMansions,' all types and styles were represented. However, the house at One Cemetery Lane left him speechless. Seemingly pulled from an old horror movie, the Victorian-style mansion made him shiver even in the daylight of late afternoon. The trees were bare and dead-looking, while the shrubbery seemed gnarled and bent on strangling anyone who came to close. A wrought iron gate and fence discouraged trespassers, and from what he could see from the road, the only way onto the property from the back was through a cemetery. Somehow, it was exactly how he had pictured the home of his tormentor.

The gate opened as his car entered the driveway, a sloping dirt road that lead right up to the front door. He decided to leave his bags in the car for the moment, just in case he felt the need to make a quick getaway. Despite the view from afar, the exterior of the house seemed to be in reasonable shape for its age, although the long rope ending in a noose that hung by the front door did make him a bit nervous. He gave it an experimental tug, causing a deep ring from a bell somewhere high above him. He adjusted his sweater. It was dark grey sweater, made from heavy Irish wool and woven by and in the style of the people of the Aran Islands of Ireland. His grandmother had gotten it for him before her passing, rest her soul, and it remained one of his most favorite pieces of clothing. It certainly kept the biting chill of the wind from getting at him.

Heavy footfalls from within the house started him back into reality. The door opened with a creek, and Alaric was created by a giant of man. Well, he assumed the person was a man, even though he looked more like a stereotypical Frankenstein's monster. "You rang," the doorman asked in a deep, rumbling bass voice, as if a gravel road had learned to speak.

"Alaric Hartmann, invited for the holiday by Miss Wednesday Addams." The doorman grunted motioned for Al to step inside. The interior of the house was dated, to say the least, as if it hadn't been updated in over a hundred years. It reminded him of an old funeral home.

"Wait here," grumbled the pallid butler, as if Al had any other choice. He wandered off down a side hallway, returning a few moments later. "Presenting Mister Gomez Addams and Miss Morticia Addams."

'Ah, the masters of the house,' he thought to himself. Gomez was a somewhat short man, with slicked back hair and an impeccably groomed moustache. Morticia on the other hand… Well, it was easy to see who Wednesday took after in the looks department. She was as pale as her daughter, but even taller, and more statuesque. Indeed, she rather resembled a statue, or maybe a freshly dead cadaver, given her pallor. Still, the two seemed oddly suited for one another.

"Alaric my dear boy," boomed Gomez, rushing forward to seize Al's hand in an excessively firm handshake, "Wonderful to finally meet you!"

Morticia smiled. It chilled his blood much in the same way her daughter's smile did. "Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet our dear Wednesday's _amant_ in person." Gomez stiffened noticeably, slowly turning to face his wife.

"Tish, you spoke French!" He moved to her in an instant, placing kisses up he lace-covered arm. "Speak more, I beg you! _Bonjour, soup du jour,_ Eiffel Tower, anything!" She gave him a gentle swat on the head, which Al noticed didn't even disturb his hair.

"Darling, please, not in front of young Alaric. No need to frighten him away just yet."

"Ah yes, of course, do for give me Alaric," he apologized, straightening himself up. "I'm afraid French is a weakness of mine, and my beloved Tish knows it too well." It made Al think of when Wednesday had spoken to him in German. It seemed to be a familial trait. "But enough of this, let our man Lurch fetch your bags."

"Yes, of course, thank you Mr. Addams." Reaching for his key fob, he pressed the trunk release button as the butler, now known as Lurch moved outside.

"Please my boy, call me Gomez. And if I may be so bold, that is a fine machine you have there. Is it yours?"

At least it was a safe conversation topic. "Technically, yes, although my father seems rather reluctant to relinquish it to me."

"Ah yes, your father. Tell me, if he at all related to the world famous Doctor Genseric Hartmann?"

"Actually, the two are one and the same." Gomez practically squealed with glee.

"Oh how lucky you are to have been raised by such a genius! I am such an admirer of his work! His recent dissertation on _Trypanosoma brucei_ was inspired!" Morticia simply raised an eyebrow at her husband's antics, while Al wondered how his father to react to the news that he had a fan boy. "Oh wait until Fester hears this!"

"Perhaps it would be best to adjourn to the parlor for now, dear. I'm sure young Alaric would like to sit down after his long journey." Actually, the last thing he wanted to do was sit, but he wasn't about to argue with Morticia. He had a feeling she was the real head of this household.

Gomez and Morticia led him into a dimly-lit room centered on a grand staircase. The furniture was as old as the rest of the house, and though one would have expected the rugs and curtains to be caked with dust, they were actually quite well maintained.

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Mr. and Mrs. Addams, but I was wondering, where might Wednesday be?" The fact that she wasn't here worried him. Not that he wanted to see her, no, not at all, but not knowing where she was was like not knowing where your pet jaguar was.

"Oh how sweet, he can barely stand to be apart from her! Such a devoted suitor, eh Tish," Gomez nudged his wife, winking as he pulled out a cigar. "Wednesday should be back shortly, I believe she had some errands to run. But please my boy, do tell us about you. Even though our dear daughter speaks of you constantly, we'd like to hear about it from the man himself." Alaric sighed. Well, he had time to kill…

XXXxxxXXX

"How those clods stay in business I'll never know," Wednesday grumbled, dusting a few flurries off of her shoulders. Honestly, what kind of spice shop doesn't carry quadruple-distilled extract of the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion pepper? She shook her head, deciding to vent her frustration on them at another time. Now she had to focus on preparing for Alaric's arrival. Everything had to be timed just right, and she had to be the first one to speak to him. Certain facts had to make clear to him and- Wait. Why were her parents laughing? It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but they didn't _cackle_. What could possibly- Wait. Whose voice was that?! She paled considerably, which was no small feat, and rushed to the living room. Shit.

"So my father looks at him and says, 'No, sir, _you_ are out of order,' and he throws a tapeworm at him! He was mad he actually burst a blood vessel in his eye!" Gomez and Morticia practically roared with laughter, something Wednesday had never actually seen outside of a family event. "Ah, if it isn't my elusive _girlfriend_." Her parents had gotten to him first. This was not ideal.

"Wednesday, there you are! Alaric here was just regaling us with a story from his youth. Why didn't you tell us he was so entertaining?" From the way her mother was looking at her, she must have some inkling of her plans. Thankfully her father looked as oblivious as ever.

"Mother, Father. Alaric, it is good to see you. I did not expect you here so early. I thought I had told you to arrive later, to give me time to prepare." The way he smirked did not do anything to settle her.

"My darling Wednesday, you tell me many things. I thought it would more romantic of me to surprise you with an earlier arrival. Aren't you pleased?" He had to admit turning the tables on her, even for a moment felt good. Perhaps a bit better than it should have.

"Thrilled," she deadpanned. "I'll take you to your room, you must be tired." She didn't even give him a chance to speak before grabbing his arm and dragging him off the couch with a strength that belied her slender frame. Leading him up the stairs over the protests of her parents, she pulled him into an empty bedroom. "What are you thinking? I told you to come in the evening."

"What you didn't tell me is that I'm your boyfriend, and have been since October! Just when were you planning on letting me know that little piece of information, hm?"

"When I felt it was necessary for you to know!"

"You may be blackmailing me, but damn it Wednesday, I deserve to be kept in the loop!"

"You will know what I wish you to know, and stop asking questions!"

"Why don't you make me, you stuck up bitch?!" Alaric would learn that Wednesday had an odd way of making him stop asking questions. Her method consisted mainly of throwing her arms around his neck, smashing their lips together, and forcing her tongue down his throat. Now, this wasn't Al's first rodeo. Yes, it had been a while since he was last intimate with a woman, but some instincts never fade away. It was those same instincts that he would hold responsible for the fact that he responded to her advances with equal vigor. His arms snaked around her waist and crushed her to him, making her groan into his mouth and redouble her efforts. Out of habit, one of his massive mitts drifted down and gave her ample behind a firm squeeze, eliciting a yelp from the middle Addams child. She pried her mouth from his and slapped him across the face, shaking him from his stupor. For a long moment they stared at each other, panting. Al finally broke the silence. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

She glared. "You squeezed my ass. I didn't give you permission to do that."

"Well," he began, "two things: One, I was referring to the kiss, and two, if I'm your boyfriend, do I really need your permission to squeeze your butt when we're locked in a passionate embrace?"

"In order: It shut you up, and as you keep pointing out, you're _not_ my boyfriend, so yes, you do need my permission."

"Fair enough I suppose. For the record though," he grinned salaciously, "you have the most perfect ass I've ever seen." Another slap. Totally worth it though. It may have been the poor lighting, but he could have sworn he saw a faint blush.

"You're a pig, you know that don't you?"

"A pig I may be, but you _did_ bring me home to meet your parents."

"And I am starting to question that decision." She rolled her eyes and stepped out of his arms. "Your room is four doors down on the left. I suggest you rest until dinner. You'll be meeting the rest of my family tonight, and you'll need your wits about you. Lurch will fetch you when dinner is ready." She turned to leave when he spoke up.

"What, no goodnight kiss for your boyfriend?" She knew that he had said it to be a smartass. He wanted to tease her as some petty form of revenge for putting him through this. Still, showing that it bothered her would just give him a victory, and she wouldn't let that happen without a fight, not in her own house. She turned back into his embrace and kissed him before slipping away again and leaving the room. It left him standing there, dumbstruck. Wednesday was unlike any woman he had ever met before. She did her absolute best to dominate him, to cow him and bend him to her will, and when he fought back she just tightened her grip. But there was more to her than that. While she was morbid and dark in her humor and personality, there had been a few times when he saw a tenderer, vulnerable side to her. Wednesday Addams was cold and unyielding on the outside, but deep below the surface there was a smoldering heat, a passion she kept hidden from the world that only made itself known on rare occasions. It only seemed to happen when they were alone, or in close physical contact. Yes, she seemed cruel and manipulative, but this hidden side of her prevented him from outright _hating_ her. Dislike and annoyance, yes, but not hate.

There were more pressing matters, namely the upcoming dinner. He yawned. Maybe he did need to rest. He moved out into the hall and down to his room, pleased to find that his things had indeed been brought up. The décor was much like the rest of the house, severely out of date and looking like it came from a B-horror movie, but Al couldn't bring himself to care. He threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes. Dinner was a few hours away, and that would be the real test.

A/N: Well, I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter, so I can only assume I'm doing well. Some feedback would be nice. Next chapter, Al meets Grandmama, Fester, Pugsley, and Pubert.


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